Saturday
by Muffliato
Summary: The residents of Pagford were proud to say they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They didn't wish to be involved with anything strange or mysterious: especially when such nonsense came from a little boy in the Fields. ––With the crossover loopholes Rowling left wide open, this was inevitable. Canon and NO SPOILERS for "The Casual Vacancy", no magic for "Harry Potter".


**Summary:** The residents of Pagford were proud to say they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They didn't wish to be involved with anything strange or mysterious–especially when such nonsense came from a little boy in the Fields. ~~ With the multitude of crossover possibilities Rowling left wide open, this was inevitable. Canon (but no spoilers) for "The Casual Vacancy", no magic for "Harry Potter".

**A/N:** I SWEAR this won't be one of those AUs where all the characters' personalities are thrown out the window. There won't be any big spoilers for "The Casual Vacancy", but I'll eventually (hopefully) take the story right up to where canon begins. While "Harry Potter"'s history will be shifted, the main personalities and Marauder to canon era plot lines will stay recognisable. Err, mostly. Quite possibly.

**General Disclaimer:** Do you see Hogwarts, blush-able curses, or risqué scenes in this story? No? Shame. Then I guess I'm not J. K. Rowling.

* * *

_"Nineteen years, kids. Nineteen years, and your mother's never looked lovelier." From "The Casual Vacancy", pg.3_

* * *

It wasn't a fairy tale.

It was simply Yarvil, Pagford, and the forsaken Fields. Not a bedtime story or a political one. For this was long before Barry Fairbrother would feel his headache of skull-breaking proportions, years before the town's truce would be shattered by a single 999 call.

There was no magic. The world lacked any Hungarian Horntails, hippogriffs, or Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. The Dursleys could eventually correctly state that motorcycles _did not fly_. But since Dudley Dursley would be as normal as could be, these words would never have to leave their mouths.

No Platform 9 3/4, no mad rush on King's Cross every 1st September. Owls were only in zoos, reservations, the wild and, notably, in Aubrey Fawley's sitting room. Albus Dumbledore was an eccentric professor at Eton, Tom Riddle Jr. was in a dilapidated London flat littered with quasi-legal substances, and Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger had yet to be born.

Miles Mollison, on the other hand, was very much alive. His time was, per usual, currently occupied peering through the fence separating his back garden from the next. The neighbour in her own red brick house (though lacking flowers in the greying windowsills, and whose yard embraced rather than cursed weeds and tangles) was less than pleased when the chubby boy climbed and leered through a high hole between the wood panels.

"All right, Evans?" His little nose warbled at the words.

'Evans' turned a page in her book, pretending that she was certainly not hiding behind her veil of long red hair.

"I _said_," Miles repeated, an edge of surliness overtaking his boyish tone, "_all right, Evans?_"

"Peachy." Another flip and she was onto the next chapter. The sink in her stomach had very little to do with the fact that the tale's cliffhanger had been put on hold. She sent a quick glare towards Howard, just long enough for him to catch her emerald green eyes and be assured she was, indeed, listening.

"Where's Tuney?" The boy said, slipping slightly in place as he tried to peer towards their porch. The stump he stood on shifted, having been torn about from the previous week's storm.

"Dunno."

"No one else's home?"

Evans froze, her fingers shaking over the page heading. Her mouth puckered, as though she was trying to draw in all the air in her back yard through a straw. As she glanced up, for a moment she could almost see a wind whistling the strung line of wire. She breathed in again, harder, before letting it out. The string didn't move.

"Have you gone deaf?" Miles stuck out his tongue, waggling in like a snake. "What d'ya know. The 'Scottish lass' can shut up!"

She pretended not to hear. Unfortunately, she had ceased to be able to pay attention to her book. Luckily, there were plenty of other things to distract her from this nuisance. Such as the small blossom lying a foot away–she stretched a bare leg out, her skirt rippling over the weeds, and plucked the small flower with her petite toes. If she squinted she could almost swear she saw the petals spin.

"No curses?" Miles sneered, taking delight in his petty insults. He was quite proud. For this boy of ten had been practising and practising, and was_ sure_ he'd achieved a suitable scathing tone. When he'd used it to grab the last rhubarb pie slice from his sister, his father had practically beamed with pride the rest of the night. "Finally listening to your mum then. To be quiet around your betters? Or could she get even that much out from around her drink?"

The book went flying to the floor and the blossom was snapped in two as she jumped out of the tangles, her hands instantly curling in fists. At the same moment a loud slam sounded as the yard's door was wrenched open, revealing a sprawling blonde girl with a pout entrenched on her lips. Any passerby would never guess that she and the sprightly, spirited redhead were anything more than second cousins at best. "What are you doing?"

The younger girl's eyes swept back and forth between her firm sister and the bratty boy still peering through the fence, the white paint peeling around the edges in thick tears. "Reading". Left, right, left, right, like she couldn't decide which person would give her more trouble.

The blonde glanced up at the blinking fence–her scowl deepened at the sight. "Mollison?" She saw his tongue and stuck hers out as well, her bossiness momentarily giving way. "Stop bugging Lily, don't you have anything better to do? Shoo, go away!"

Miles was perfectly fine with picking on a girl less than half his weight (whose head was always in the clouds or a book), but he knew perfectly well which neighbourhood children would run and tattle-tale to his mum. With one final blink and shout of, "Drunkard!", the fence returned to being merely wood and nails.

Petunia Evans deemed it appropriate to keep her stare there for half a moment longer, but Lily felt her sister's disappointed gaze back on her far too soon. She didn't see it though–her own stare was kept locked on the ground, and the weeds which were circling and crunching the pages of her haphazardly thrown fairy tale. These, she was positive, were most definitely moving of their own accord.

"_He's_ back." Petunia groaned when her words made Lily brighten, even though the latter continued to petulantly look down at the wrinkling book. "Christ, never mind the neighbour boy. The other one is far more awful and at the door. Our door. Make him leave!"

Lily sniffed, finally pulling her determined gaze up to meet her sister's. "You'll insult Sev but not Mollison?"

"At least that–boy–" to be fair, the older girl wrenched out the word in disgust, "doesn't have lice, _things_ on his clothes, or disgusting odours trailing off of him from the Fields."

Her sister returned her hands to fists at the words. "I don't hear you complaining about Barry."

Petunia sniffed, once more seeming older than her years. "Barry is nice _and_ clean. Snape is just–awful. He makes mum upset. Tell him to leave already!"

"Mummy doesn't care." Lily leaned over to scoop up the book, carefully smoothing out the abused and grass-stained pages. "Tuney–"

"Don't call me that!" The older girl shrieked as though a horrible swear had been thrown out.

"–Petunia," Lily sighed but corrected, "Sev is as nice as Barry. Pretty please give him a chance?"

"He's mean and awful." Petunia scowled, for even in her young age she _knew_ that she oughten to be argued with. Even if it was from Lily. "Nobody likes him–can't you see that? He's so horrid to everyone. Have you even see how he treats me? Do you care?"

"No, he likes you–"

"He only likes you and those silly stories!" Petunia petulantly stamped her foot. "Mum agrees."

"Well, mummy's wrong!" Lily snapped, her tiredness of this oft-repeated argument obvious. "Why do you listen to her? She isn't getting better and her mind's soft from those things. She's going," she hesitated, not happy to use a word she didn't know, "going senile. That's what it is. Stops 'membering stuff."

Petunia's gaze quickened back to the fence, brows tightening in suspicion. "Mollison said that?"

Lily hesitated before nodding firmly. She didn't want to mention that it had in fact been a quip from the knowledgeable Severus Snape.

"She isn't going 'senile', I doubt you even know what that means." The older girl frowned, though her expression lightened in something akin to sympathy. "Mum's trying her best, alright? It's been hard. Why can't you understand?"

"We can do better than her! Sev says–"

"–that we need a Fairy Godmother?" Petunia spouted back, throwing her gaze to the heavens in a silent prayer for patience. "Stop being stupid Lily, those things don't exist."

"I–" but for once, Lily Evans didn't have a comeback. She was tired of the arguments, tired of her mum's unconcern, tired of her sister's blind trust, tired of feeling like an outsider in Pagford, and tired that none of Sev's promises about happily ever afters were coming true.

* * *

They had found the Cave when they were eleven. It was, in fact, where they had met and what had defined the boys' relationship.

Though technically speaking, James Potter and Sirius Black had been friends for some time before that. Since James yearned for the type of rebelliousness which his companion oozed naturally and as Sirius was quick to pounce on the offer of a ready house to escape to (one which was not only wonderfully chaotic but where everyone liked him and didn't view him like something the cat dragged in), the two hit it off instantly. Every free moment since meeting the boys had squiggled out from everyday chores and general parental nuisances to find out what mysteries Pagford had to discover. They were both convinced that it was impossible for a town to be this tranquil and nice and clean and spotless, and were determined to uncover the certainly abundant treasure trove which called to them. The Fields was their natural first excursion, though ended on a rough note. And while neither of them would admit to feeling a spike of panic at retracing their steps, their next adventure found them instead out in the forest.

Though this was perhaps fairly dangerous as well. For they hadn't even gone far into the trees before Sirius rammed into Peter Pettigrew, knocking them both to the ground as the latter's bike spun around in a faint parody of a ballerina's pilot before giving up and dropping as well. Though both were only bruised and neither needed to go to hospital, the mickey would be taken out of the two for years in the same way mates joked about babes being dropped on their heads.

Whether the humans were concussed or not, the bike certainly was and Peter was despondent at the sight. Sirius waved it away, insisted that he could fix it, "Like this!", with a snap of his fingers, and pulled both the others forward to cheer them up. This worked particularly well: for of course it did, what little boy could continue frowning when faced with an adventure? It didn't especially matter that Peter–with baby fat still thick on his cheeks and a mousy voice which clashed with his blocky, stocky figure–was smiling for a different reason.

What did matter was what they found beyond the line of trees as they left the forlorn bicycle behind; the precipice of a ragged cliff hung before them as though a pinnacle of the end of the world. It was no surprise when Sirius hurried forward first, balancing his feet and arching his heels to cling to the edge as pebbles spiralled down with _clicks_ down the rock's face to the ground far below.

"Something's there!" The bravely reckless boy shouted back, his longish black hair flapping against the wind. He leaned over as far as he could to look at the cliff. "There's a small path and–and some sort of indent up there. C'mon, let's go."

"What?" Although Peter was nowhere near the edge he skittered back even farther. For though the idea of adventure (and friendsfriends_friends_) was enticing, he'd chose to stay by his abused bicycle then plummet off a cliff. "No way, you're barmy."

"Barmy." James agreed with a nod, even while he casually strode forward to join Sirius in peering over at the new discovery. "Completely mental. Huh, does that look like a cave to you? Whatsername, what d'ya think?"

"Peter." Peter said, not moving from his spot. "It's Peter."

"It _is_ a cave!" Sirius dared gravity as he leaned even farther into the air, his grin close to manic in his excitement. "Cool. James, new kid, let's go."

"_Peter_." Peter stressed again. He took a few steps forward while making sure to linger behind the others.

"_Peter_," Sirius rolled his eyes, "James, let's go!" Without waiting for an answer of surely refusal, he stepped out onto the ledge himself.

James gaped as his friend inched sideways, his body flattened against the cliff-face. He glanced back at a pale Peter before sighing, ruffling his hair, adjusted his glasses with a final twinge, and went out on the ledge as well. "Mental, absolutely mental. Sirius, if we die I'm going to kill you."

"Have fun with that." Sirius huffed, reaching his hand out to a protruding stone as the path slightly wobbled beneath him. Peter gazed between the others and the small rocks skittering out from their inching shows in horror.

_Click. Click. Click._

"I–" Peter, shaking, walking up to the edge. "I–" His foot stepped out onto the ledge of its own accord. "Uh–no wait, I–oh god oh god oh god–"

"Go Peter!" Sirius cheered from up ahead and, with a start as Peter clung to the cliff's edge as his only lifeline, the pudgy boy realised that he was already a few feet out and staring down at a drop face which seemed to go on forever. Why'd he ever leave his bike?

"Whoo." James answered faintly, his own trepidation becoming apparent in his suddenly sickly expression. "Christ, we're going to die."

"Such a pessimist." Sirius tutted just as he lost his foothold and grabbed onto James' collar frantically. The other boy's eyes flew open as he squabbled away from the edge as best he could, trying to pull Sirius off of him while vehemently cursing. Peter, watching this insanity of a plausibly-fatal dance from a bit away, couldn't help but feel slightly cheered about his own precarious position.

"Bloody CHRIST!" James finally shrieked, his voice going high and pitchy as he swayed dangerously and tried to keep from falling over. "SIRIUS?"

"Sorry, mate." Sirius said with a note of actual apology, regaining his balance and relinguishing his death-grip on the other's shirt. "Err, it's kinda crumpled–"

"Get away!" James slapped his hands away from his collar. "Bloody hell, just keep moving. The cave's right ahead: don't make me push you over."

"Right." Sirius jumped ahead as best he could to get away from his friend's glare. "Err, right. I'll just give you a personal bubble. All right? So there's no need to push or–"

"JUST KEEP MOVING!"

"'kay, 'kay, don't get your panties in a twist." Sirius met James' scowl with a smirk as he repositioned himself to step forward sideways along the last bit of ledge until the path opened out onto a small cave. Peter was thrilled that the rest of the short journey passed without incident, and was just beginning to relax when James and Sirius peered into the cave and a tired, scarred boy peered out.

"HOLY SHIT!" Sirius cascaded back onto James, both of them windmilling their arms to keep their places on the ledge. James shoved his 'friend' forward, and the latter was only saved when the unknown boy quickly grabbed onto his legs. Peter nearly jumped off the path in shock at the screams, but his panic descended to disbelief as he stared at the newcomer.

"Thanks." Sirius panted gratefully as he was helped into the small opening by the boy. He then turned to glare at James. "_Thanks_."

"What?" James leaned onto the side, his own breath ragged but the space was too small for either he or Peter to enter. "It's fine, I owed you. Plus, whatsername was here to save you."

"Remus." The light brown haired boy spoke up helpfully. His shock at the sudden intrusion on his hiding place was giving way to curiosity. "Remus Lupin. You?"

"Sirius Black." The boy beside him replied, stretching out as languidly in the small space as he could. "'n that's James Potter and Peter Somethingorother."

"Peter Pettigrew." The last boy piped up as he began to feel, like James did, unnerved for clutching at the same spot on the cliff for so long.

A shy grin swept across Remus' face. "Nice to meet you."

And this wasn't a happily ever after, but it was a decent once upon a time. For there are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and scaling a cliff-edge while 'almost-but-not-quite' pushing each other over the side is one of them.

* * *

**A/N:** Anyone else love the nuggets of "Harry Potter" in this book? So awesome but so heartbreaking. One particularly shattering passage (which made me start bawling) produced the idea for this little fic. But unfortunately we won't get to that quote until the last chapter. Until then I'll keep writing, hopefully someone will keep reading, and I'll continue sobbing as "The Casual Vacancy" crushes my childhood into pieces. Don't get me wrong, it's brilliantly written but, Rowling, how could you? You've, you've given me an existential crisis! Hogwarts is GONE andandand THE CUPBOARD! *continues sobbing*

I was about on page 100 of "The Casual Vacancy" when I started to wonder if there were any fanfics up about it. I'd gotten the novel a day late because of a stream of uni classes and general busyness, so I figured a bunch of people must have already finished and written up their ideas. I casually clicked over to this site before freezing in amazement. De-petrifying myself I rapidly changed over to Google, clicking in the search words with widening eyes. And there before me, the truth: no stories had hit the web yet.

Cue a frantic two hours as I simultaneously typed up a draft, read a few chapters on medieval chronicles, and prepared to meet someone for dinner. With five minutes to spare I uploaded the chapter, grabbed my purse, repressed all memories of evil chronicles, and vaulted out the door towards Princes' Street.

Returning home, I checked on the story and did a headdesk at my horrendous grammar mistakes. Another hour and update later and I wasn't quite as horrified as before, and a bit happy that I 'might-have-maybe-potentially-possibly-perhaps' gotten out the first fanfic of J.K. Rowling's new book! Um, I think?

Meh, so I love Rowling (even though she hit my childhood with a _crucio_ *curls up into a ball*). Reviewers totally get virtual red vines. Or, you know, a very nice thank you :D


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